


Blood Under Your Nails

by red_crate



Series: Steter Week 2017 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe, Canon Era, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, M/M, Manipulation, Murder, Pack Building, Past Rape/Non-con, Vomiting, Werewolf Healing, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-04 19:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12778332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_crate/pseuds/red_crate
Summary: "I’m going to help you get revenge on the people who stole your pack from you and left you to rot in a hospital, alone and vulnerable for years.”Peter’s eyes narrow. “And why would you do that?”“I need a pack.” Stiles says the words that have been running through his mind since he was first bitten against his will. For a moment, it feels as if he’s been flayed open.





	Blood Under Your Nails

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Steter Week Day one: Season One Rewrite. 
> 
> All my appreciation to Green for looking this over and helping me figure out how to tie it up so it can stand alone (but also where I can come back to it and add more at a later date)
> 
> Please see notes at the end for warnings about the past rape. If you think you'll be upset or triggered by the content, please do not read. Take care of yourself. <3

“Peter?” Laura Hale calls out, apprehensive. 

She looks lost  in the dark, heartbeat loud in Stiles’ ear. His palms are wet with nervous sweat, and he almost reconsiders his plan. But he needs this, he needs to be stronger so he can make himself safer before he’s found. 

And Laura... she's not so innocent.

The moon above them beckons his wolf. The shift from nails into claws is barely noticeable, and the crack of his jaw making room for extended teeth is almost a relief. 

Laura catches sight of him and confusion passes across her face. “Where is Peter? Who are you?” Her eyes dart around the woods surrounding them. Laura’s fingers curve with claws, ready to protect herself.

It’s too late.

Stiles lunges with the syringe of tranquilizer he stole from Deaton’s office. The needle bites into Laura’s neck, and he pushes the plunger down until the barrel is empty. She gets one good shot at him, claws ripping into the layered fabric of his shirts and scratching at his flesh. She drops almost instantly however. 

Stepping back so her weight falls to the ground, Stiles cocks his head. She's out cold. His research said she would be in her late twenties, but she looks younger than that. He crouches down and turns her face so he can see it properly in the light of the full moon. Laura is attractive, all dark hair and fair skin. She’s definitely a Hale. Stiles slides his hand down to her neck and wraps his fingers over her pulse which is slowing as the tranquilizer works. 

Some people might think this isn’t fighting fair, but Stiles doesn’t think any life or death fight is fair. He found his advantage and he took it. Focusing on what he'll gain from this—the promises he made himself—Stiles closes his eyes and pushes claws into the softness of her neck.

The feel of hot, thick blood gushing over his skin is one Stiles isn’t likely to forget anytime soon. His claws slice easily through flesh, connective tissue, muscle, and blood vessels until he scrape across the bone of her spine. He gags at the sight of his own hand, almost knuckle deep in a place fingers should never go.

When the alpha power rushes through him, Stiles vomits violently next to Laura’s corpse. His body is shaking uncontrollably, jaw chattering as if he's been playing in the snow all day and the warmth of home is a shock to the system. He grinds his teeth, cuts his own lip, and spits on the ground until all he tastes is blood. 

Stiles stands up from where he’d been kneeling. There is a hush in the forest around him. 

He reaches down and hoists the body over his shoulder. 

He has work to do.

* * *

 

Stiles doesn’t like the nurse that swaps shifts with others in order to look after Peter Hale. She smells like desperation and he’s heard the way she whispers to Peter when she thinks it’s just the two of them. Jennifer has quite the little obsession, building up fantasies of a future she and Peter can have together once he wakes up from his catatonic state. 

The worst thing about her, however, is the lust. She smells aroused almost every time Stiles passes by after she’s left Peter’s room. The cloying, musky scent that follows her when she leaves and permeates Peter's room is disgusting. Stiles opens the window no matter how cold or hot it is outside, and drags Peter's chair over to it. 

After Stiles cuts Laura's body in half and dumps each part at a different site, he tracks down the nurse. It's almost too easy, unsatisfying. 

She's sitting on the couch when Stiles jimmies the lock open and sneaks inside. He doesn't use his claws this time. Instead, her head bangs against the coffee table with just enough momentum to crack her skull. The trickle of blood that spreads along her temple barely even registers to Stiles. He stays in the living room, sitting on the floor behind the couch until he hears her heart give one last stuttered squeeze. 

* * *

“Her name is Allison, and she is probably the prettiest girl I've ever seen in real life—maybe ever.” Scott rambles about the new girl that showed up.

Stiles nods his head along as they walk down the hall to the cafeteria. He hasn't seen her yet, but he's heard some of the other kids talking about her. 

“Okay, but you've met Lydia Martin.” He raises an eyebrow at Scott as if his case has been made. 

Scott has a dopey smile in his face, and he sighs wistfully. “I don't know man. There's just something about her.”

“You mean because she deigned to talk to you?” Stiles pushes the door open and leads Scott through the lunch line. 

“Ha. Ha.” Scott shoves him in the shoulder good-naturedly, and Stiles has to pretend to be pushed off kilter. “I think this year we might be coming into our own, Stiles.”

Scott has no idea. 

“Sure. All we have to do is make first line on the lacrosse team.” Stiles parrots back the same line Scott had fed him all summer, hyping up their sophomore year possibilities. “Allison didn't run the opposite direction when you spoke to her. I guess that is as good a sign as anything else.”

“Keep dreaming, boys.” Jackson shoulders his way in front of Stiles, cutting in line. “The only line you'll be first in is the one for sperm donation.” He smirks. “No one wants what you got.”

Stiles almost loses control right there. Nausea rushes through Stiles as memories of violation rise to the forefront of his mind. His fangs threaten to pop free so he can tear into Jackson, make him hurt enough to leave Stiles alone forever. Instead, Stiles bends the plastic edge of his lunch tray as he attempts to reel in his instinct. 

He probably should have skipped school today in order to give himself a little more time for adjustment to the alpha power coursing through him. Even at his worst, Jackson is usually only a minor annoyance. Stiles can usually weather the uninspired insults easily.

He thinks about everything he can do, how much faster and stronger he is than Jackson. Stiles grits his teeth, which he knows Jackson takes to mean the barb hit its intended target. Jackson smells sour with his petty little pride. Stiles counts his own heartbeat and forces himself to calm down. 

“Hey, we've been practicing.” Scott leans round Stiles and points out. 

They have been practicing. Scott's been swimming a lot over the summer to help his lung capacity. They've been working together to get better at passing and blocking. Stiles has been working on balancing his awkward façade while keeping his strength under wraps. It gets harder to control the more he allows himself to enjoy what he's doing. Stiles thinks he might have to throw his performance off even more just so the coach won't put him on the team. It'll be safer and less conspicuous. 

Scott will be upset though.

Jackson scoffs. “Yeah, I’ll be shaking in my cleats.” He fills his tray with food slowly. “I heard you talking about Allison,” Jackson looks over at Scott, “keep dreaming, McCall. She’s way out of your league.”

Scott blusters, face going a bit red. 

Glaring at Jackson, Stiles asks, “Does Lydia know you’re so invested in another girl’s romantic life?” He puts on a fake sympathetic expression. “Trouble in paradise?”

It’s an easy jab. Jackson has an insecure streak a mile wide. The tips of his ears go red, and his knuckles turn white where his hands are wrapped around his tray. Stiles catches a hint of  _ fear _ in Jackson’s scent that makes Stiles’ wolf interested.

“Shut the fuck up,” Jackson mumbles. 

Putting a hand to his chest, Stiles complains. “Ouch. That one really hurt, dude. Truly.”

When Jackson lifts a threatening fist, Stiles flinches out of forced habit. 

* * *

When Stiles steps into Peter’s room, he has a moment of intense vertigo as his wolf side swirls around inside. He has a sudden desire to cover Peter with his own body and make the pain stop. It’s unsettling. Stiles braces a hand against the door to stay upright as he fights off the urge. Once he’s steady on his feet again, he heads further into the room.

The closer he gets to Peter, however, the stronger the urge is. 

Peter doesn’t outwardly acknowledge him, but Stiles can smell the muted confusion Peter is feeling. The emotion calls to his wolf, telling Stiles he needs to comfort him, help him. If his own altered wolf is reacting as strongly to Peter now, he can only imagine what Peter’s wolf is doing inside his head.

Peter is dressed in a set of scrubs with a robe draped over his shoulders. Stiles hesitates before he runs his hand down Peter’s forearm and circles Peter’s wrist in one hand. There’s a frisson energy courses through Stiles, and he has the sudden realization that he  _ can _ fix this.  

He wets his lips and slides his fingers over the inside of Peter’s wrist where the pulse is steady. His grip tightens. Without making the conscious decision to do so, Stiles feels his body push power and energy at Peter. The bass of their heartbeats pound through Stiles until the sounds are in sync. It feels as if he’s watching everything from outside his body.

The burns on the side of Peter’s face and neck that Stiles has grown accustomed to steadily recede, revealing perfectly smooth new skin. Peter’s chest rises and falls quickly, and smoky, black lines slither over Stiles’ skin. It aches deeply. He feels like his life force has been split down the middle and is being shared between the two of them. For one moment, Stiles feels complete in a completely different way.

Peter gasps, and Stiles sees long, sharp teeth.

Suddenly, Stiles is on the other side of the room, head swimming and body feeling too heavy. Electric blue eyes glow where Peter’s are usually a dull blue-grey. One of his hands, tipped with claws, is wrapped tightly around Stiles’ neck. 

“Thanks for the power-up, but who the fuck are you?” Peter grits the words out. 

Stiles should be able to brush him off easily, but he finds himself barely able to keep his knees from buckling. He brings his hands up to pull at Peter’s arm uselessly, flashing his red eyes. 

“I can’t tell you anything if you kill me.” His words are more air than voice. 

Peter’s grip on his throat lessens for a moment before tightening as he threatens, “I could kill you and become alpha.” He lets go however.

Stiles gulps down air, thrown off by the fatigue he hasn’t felt in over a year. He rubs at his throat, and says wryly “Thanks.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.” Peter braces his hands either side of Stiles. His expression is fierce and piercing. 

Despite the threat, Stiles’ wolf isn’t cowering or preparing for a fight. Stiles feels  _ pride _ in Peter. His wolf whispers  _ protector, intelligent, packmate _ . 

Stiles relaxes against the wall. “Because I’m going to help you get revenge on the people who stole your pack from you and left you to rot in a hospital, alone and vulnerable for years.”

Peter’s eyes narrow. “And why would you do that?”

“I need a pack.” Stiles says the words that have been running through his mind since he was first bitten against his will. For a moment, it feels as if he’s been flayed open. 

Instead, Peter pushes off the wall and crosses his arms. His fangs and claws recede, and his eyes dim back to a human blue. He looks nothing like the vacant burn victim he’d been less than ten minutes ago. “How did someone so young become alpha, I wonder. And why is it that my wolf  _ recognizes _ you?” 

His words are accusing, but his tone and his scent are thick with certainty. A shrewd smile plays along the corners of his mouth.

Stiles’ wolf preens and strains forward. 

“I can explain that…”

* * *

_ Teeth slice into Stiles’ shoulder, and heat burns through his veins instantaneously. The pain is agony. _

_ Stiles claws at the dirt, whimpering as air is crushed from his lungs. His nails tear over roots and rock, bleeding like a sacrifice to an unhearing god as Stiles cries out. The body pressed against his back is large, heavy, and insistent.  _

_ When it’s done, he feels the alpha licking along his skin. He’s lapping at Stiles’ blood, sucking on the ripped flesh of the bite.  _

_ “You’ll always be mine, Stiles. I’ll have you in death, or I’ll have your forever.” The alpha promises lowly.  _

_ Stiles wishes for death. He wishes for his dad. He wishes he was strong enough to save himself.  _

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warnings:** reference to past rape of a minor by and original character. Nothing is described explicitly, but there is a flashback to the very end of the episode. There is a rather graphic scene of a Bite post rape. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Come hang out with me on Tumblr](http://the-redcrate.tumblr.com).


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